Aría
Just as I'm accepting the inevitable, there's an enormous bellow as a huge green thing drops from the sky and roars loud enough to attract pretty much everything's attention. Damn, that ork can fight. I rescind my previous statement about plant people; this thing is badass. He hooks over the fire escape and I shoot him a smile of genuine gratitude, not something that I do a lot.
"Thanks, man. You came right on time."
I climb up the ladder faster than most people can run, swarming up the fire escape in the blink of an eye, all the while loading more bullets into my clips. I really need to get more of them, because all the bullets in the world are useless if I can't put them in my gun. When I reach the top, I meet the small group of zombies on the building with a smile on my lips and my fingers on my triggers.
Lemons
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Resident Of The Bargain Bin
STATUS: I've been on this stupid site for an entire decade now and it's been fantastic, thank you all so much 6 mos ago
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I've been on this stupid site for an entire decade now and it's been fantastic, thank you all so much
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Aría
Click. Click
Shit.
This is not what I bargained for. This is a downright goddamn horde. Even with perfect headshots, I only managed to drop a couple dozen and now I'm out of ammo. I turn to run and find myself backed into a corner, abominations on all sides. I grin nervously, sweating, and search desperately for an escape. Fire escape too high. Gaps in between zombies too small. Walls high and sheer. Guns down. Can't touch any of them.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Okay, so for future reference, four magazines is not enough to kill an entire zombie horde with...oh, who am I kidding? There is no future reference. This is pretty much where it ends. Not with the asshats who've chased me for most of my life, but with some unthinking, unfeeling bunch of creatures. The irony is hilarious and I find myself laughing. I grin wickedly and snatch the knife hanging on my thigh from the sheath, dropping into a classic knife-fighter's stance and awaiting the horde. Come at me, fuckers. I ain't got a thing to lose.
Click. Click
Shit.
This is not what I bargained for. This is a downright goddamn horde. Even with perfect headshots, I only managed to drop a couple dozen and now I'm out of ammo. I turn to run and find myself backed into a corner, abominations on all sides. I grin nervously, sweating, and search desperately for an escape. Fire escape too high. Gaps in between zombies too small. Walls high and sheer. Guns down. Can't touch any of them.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Okay, so for future reference, four magazines is not enough to kill an entire zombie horde with...oh, who am I kidding? There is no future reference. This is pretty much where it ends. Not with the asshats who've chased me for most of my life, but with some unthinking, unfeeling bunch of creatures. The irony is hilarious and I find myself laughing. I grin wickedly and snatch the knife hanging on my thigh from the sheath, dropping into a classic knife-fighter's stance and awaiting the horde. Come at me, fuckers. I ain't got a thing to lose.
Aría
I hear something from the winged kid and snort at the question.
"She's an Elvhen. They're an asshole race of assassins that specialize in using older weapons such as swords and bows, though they usually put a more modern twist on them." I completely ignore the ork; damn plant people. I flip around my guns, twirling them in elaborate motions not unlike butterfly knives, and speak to the boy again. "Oh, and speak for yourself. No way in hell am I getting on a ship with an Elvhen. You could say that my experiences with them haven't been, well...pleasant, and by that I mean that one of them tried to shoot me in the eye. Repeatedly. Then they tried to cut me in half. I think I'll take my chances on Taryn, thanks. At least I know where to get some bullets and don't have to follow someone else's rules." Finally, I turn to the guy with the sniper rifle.
"Some idiot somewhere in the galaxy probably released some kind of supervirus. Probably someone from Earth; Earth people like doing stupid shit. Anyway, guess I'll be seeing you guys, unless someone decides to come along. At least I won't try to assassinate you."
I finish loading up two spare clips of bullets and shove them in my pockets, separating them from my seemingly-endless supply of high-caliber rounds, then begin to walk casually in the other direction, twirling the guns one more time and then holstering them.
I hear something from the winged kid and snort at the question.
"She's an Elvhen. They're an asshole race of assassins that specialize in using older weapons such as swords and bows, though they usually put a more modern twist on them." I completely ignore the ork; damn plant people. I flip around my guns, twirling them in elaborate motions not unlike butterfly knives, and speak to the boy again. "Oh, and speak for yourself. No way in hell am I getting on a ship with an Elvhen. You could say that my experiences with them haven't been, well...pleasant, and by that I mean that one of them tried to shoot me in the eye. Repeatedly. Then they tried to cut me in half. I think I'll take my chances on Taryn, thanks. At least I know where to get some bullets and don't have to follow someone else's rules." Finally, I turn to the guy with the sniper rifle.
"Some idiot somewhere in the galaxy probably released some kind of supervirus. Probably someone from Earth; Earth people like doing stupid shit. Anyway, guess I'll be seeing you guys, unless someone decides to come along. At least I won't try to assassinate you."
I finish loading up two spare clips of bullets and shove them in my pockets, separating them from my seemingly-endless supply of high-caliber rounds, then begin to walk casually in the other direction, twirling the guns one more time and then holstering them.
Aría
I finish loading up two magazines and, with my ankle mostly better, jog after her, keeping pace with absolute ease. Hmm, she seems really...I dunno what the word is, but for some reason, it seems like she doesn't know who I am. Huh.
"So, what exactly is an Elvhen assassin doing around here? You already tried to tear my guts out through my eye sockets once," which of course was hyperbole; she simply tried to cleanly shoot an arrow through my eye at a distance, "so are you here to try and kill me again? If so, you're doing in wrong." Another building flashes by beneath my feet. "I mean..." GOD WHY ARE THERE SO MANY BUILDINGS IN TARYN "I've killed plenty, but...Eh, whatever. Go on, ask your questions, sweetheart."
I finish loading up two magazines and, with my ankle mostly better, jog after her, keeping pace with absolute ease. Hmm, she seems really...I dunno what the word is, but for some reason, it seems like she doesn't know who I am. Huh.
"So, what exactly is an Elvhen assassin doing around here? You already tried to tear my guts out through my eye sockets once," which of course was hyperbole; she simply tried to cleanly shoot an arrow through my eye at a distance, "so are you here to try and kill me again? If so, you're doing in wrong." Another building flashes by beneath my feet. "I mean..." GOD WHY ARE THERE SO MANY BUILDINGS IN TARYN "I've killed plenty, but...Eh, whatever. Go on, ask your questions, sweetheart."
Aría
What. The. Hell.
Okay, zombie stuff happens in movies a lot, I'll give you that. But real life? Real fuckin' life? Wasn't my life messed-up enough already? How did this even happen? What twathead released the virus that infected everyone? And why...the hell...can they FLY?!
All of this is running wildly through my head as I run wildly across the rooftops, ducking, sliding, climbing, jumping. Taryn's roofs are a lot harder to parkour than Earth's, and since they don't have to scale skyscrapers, the things are actually gaining on me. Not out of ammo, but not enough time to load another mag. CHRIST, today is not my day.
As I jump and roll from one particularly high roof to a much lower one, I wrench my ankle some and wince, my pace slowing to just slower to a walk. Damn, damn, now they're REALLY gaining on me...Hang on, who's that? As I fervently load up a new clip of bullets from ammo in my pocket, I make the person out. Great, just great. It's one of those damn Elvhen assassins, and if I'm not mistaken, I recognize her. Lovely. Now not only do I have a bunch of zombies trying to eat me, but the same woman who once tried to eviscerate me has my life in her hands. Pardon me if I don't hold my breath.
"Hey sweetie, mind giving me a hand over here? You like killing things, right?"
(Sorry if that's considered a bit of god-modding. If so, I'll change it.)
What. The. Hell.
Okay, zombie stuff happens in movies a lot, I'll give you that. But real life? Real fuckin' life? Wasn't my life messed-up enough already? How did this even happen? What twathead released the virus that infected everyone? And why...the hell...can they FLY?!
All of this is running wildly through my head as I run wildly across the rooftops, ducking, sliding, climbing, jumping. Taryn's roofs are a lot harder to parkour than Earth's, and since they don't have to scale skyscrapers, the things are actually gaining on me. Not out of ammo, but not enough time to load another mag. CHRIST, today is not my day.
As I jump and roll from one particularly high roof to a much lower one, I wrench my ankle some and wince, my pace slowing to just slower to a walk. Damn, damn, now they're REALLY gaining on me...Hang on, who's that? As I fervently load up a new clip of bullets from ammo in my pocket, I make the person out. Great, just great. It's one of those damn Elvhen assassins, and if I'm not mistaken, I recognize her. Lovely. Now not only do I have a bunch of zombies trying to eat me, but the same woman who once tried to eviscerate me has my life in her hands. Pardon me if I don't hold my breath.
"Hey sweetie, mind giving me a hand over here? You like killing things, right?"
(Sorry if that's considered a bit of god-modding. If so, I'll change it.)
(Sorry about that, the network derped up and I double posted)
Aría
Bang bang bang bang bang bang
I growl in annoyance, the triggers of my twin pistols blurring as I hail bullets downrange. The target is untouched, for the most part. The only mark is the gaping hole in the center, bullets still slamming into it at unbelievable speeds. That asshole, I think savagely, that absolute, unmitigated asshole! What gives him the right to pull me over for speeding and then come on to me? I'll show him speeding, alright! I'll speed his head off of his body!
Bang bang bang bang bang bang
I hear some kind of distant shriek and sigh in irritation. Some moron probably forgot to put the safety on their gun and shot their pregnant lesbian wife or something, I don't know. My guns click, and I eject the magazines, jacking in two more and resuming, my fingers moving even faster. My forehead is coated in a thin sheen of sweat and my ears are ringing mercilessly by the time I've gone through the twenty magazines of bullets that I can afford to waste at a range. More screaming. Sighing tiredly, I eject the last magazine and walk up to the counter, dropping all twenty into the allotted box before drawing my own magazines out of my pockets and loading them into my guns. Safeties on, of courses. Another scream. Jesus, it's amateur hour tonight. Wait, never mind, that came from outside, which means...
I throw the door open and find myself staring at a scene of chaos. Rain slicks the sidewalks as horrifying, putrid monstrosities bearing winglike constructs assault terrified civilians. Ten or so instantly lock on to me and begin shambling slowly in my direction, tortured moans escaping their bulbous, cracked lips. Another sigh comes from me.
"That's so damn cliche."
My pistols come out again, twirling on my fingers as I cock them and flick off the safeties in one fluid motion. I level them confidently and a sardonic grin leaps to my face.
"And I hate cliches."
Bang bang bang bang bang bang
(Sadly, Aría was unaware that only headshots counted [at least that's how I assume it works], and thus only two zombies were slain. First casualties! Ding ding ding! Wait, never mind, the father...)
Bang bang bang bang bang bang
I growl in annoyance, the triggers of my twin pistols blurring as I hail bullets downrange. The target is untouched, for the most part. The only mark is the gaping hole in the center, bullets still slamming into it at unbelievable speeds. That asshole, I think savagely, that absolute, unmitigated asshole! What gives him the right to pull me over for speeding and then come on to me? I'll show him speeding, alright! I'll speed his head off of his body!
Bang bang bang bang bang bang
I hear some kind of distant shriek and sigh in irritation. Some moron probably forgot to put the safety on their gun and shot their pregnant lesbian wife or something, I don't know. My guns click, and I eject the magazines, jacking in two more and resuming, my fingers moving even faster. My forehead is coated in a thin sheen of sweat and my ears are ringing mercilessly by the time I've gone through the twenty magazines of bullets that I can afford to waste at a range. More screaming. Sighing tiredly, I eject the last magazine and walk up to the counter, dropping all twenty into the allotted box before drawing my own magazines out of my pockets and loading them into my guns. Safeties on, of courses. Another scream. Jesus, it's amateur hour tonight. Wait, never mind, that came from outside, which means...
I throw the door open and find myself staring at a scene of chaos. Rain slicks the sidewalks as horrifying, putrid monstrosities bearing winglike constructs assault terrified civilians. Ten or so instantly lock on to me and begin shambling slowly in my direction, tortured moans escaping their bulbous, cracked lips. Another sigh comes from me.
"That's so damn cliche."
My pistols come out again, twirling on my fingers as I cock them and flick off the safeties in one fluid motion. I level them confidently and a sardonic grin leaps to my face.
"And I hate cliches."
Bang bang bang bang bang bang
(Sadly, Aría was unaware that only headshots counted [at least that's how I assume it works], and thus only two zombies were slain. First casualties! Ding ding ding! Wait, never mind, the father...)
Basically a mostly unemotional, badass, misandrist cyborg bounty hunter. Made about halfway of guns.
Pathfinder said
How do the Elvhan reproduce if they kill their males soon after birth? Mitosis?
Same problem shared by the Gerudo from the old Zelda games. Seems to be overlooked a lot.
Revans Exile said
Solana tends to ignore anyone who isn't her target, useful in getting her closer to the target, a threat, or a shopkeeper. Anyone else she ignores in the best case scenario. Though with the zombie outbreak, things may change.The only time Solana has engaged in gossiping was to lure a person into talking about something they wouldn't normally. Other than that she finds gossiping to be the worse thing humanoids have ever come up with.
Oh, she's one of those people, haha. Kinda reminds me of Roarke. (The chances of anyone getting that reference are unbelievably small)
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